Page 38 of Peasants and Kings
Eden wouldn’t be concerned with the amount of attention she was getting. Eden would be confident. Eden would thrive in this environment.
I am Eden Smith.
The men were effusive in their compliments, and I found myself smiling in genuine amusement at the measures they took to woo me. The art of flirtation began to blossom as I wore my new persona.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Julia—who went by the name Pearl—being whisked off the dance floor by two men, her head thrown back in humor as she laughed.
Suddenly, the men surrounding me parted like waves of the ocean to make way for the Scottish stranger who was clearly out of place and time. He strode toward me with command and purpose.
When he stood no more than three feet away from me, he stopped. We stared at one another, the people around us fading into nothing. I couldn’t read the expression on his face.
Finally, he held out his large hand to me. Without pause, I took it.
There was a collective murmur from the other men as they realized they’d lost the chance to seduce me.
“Shall we?” he asked, his voice a deep, sensual purr. His brogue was thick and seductive and brushed tingles of awareness down my spine.
“Bold move,” I murmured when we were off the dance floor standing near a marble column at the edge of the room.
“You seemed to enjoy it,” he said. His eyes dipped to my throat and his expression tightened.
I touched the key around my neck and met his gaze. Our eyes clashed and tension mounted, turning tacitly sexual.
“I don’t want to have this conversation out in the open,” he said, pitching his voice low. His hand settled at the small of my back as he gently escorted me off the main floor to a library. It was a private place, a place of civility and gentlemanly pursuits.
He led me inside and I heard the door to the library click shut behind me, but the man made no move to come deeper into the room. Instead, he stood by the door, his eyes appearing flinty in the dim, romantic light.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice like a crack of thunder in the silence.
“Eden.”
“Not your persona, I mean your real name.”
“You didn’t care enough to ask me my real name the other day at The Rex. Why do you want to know now?”
His gaze narrowed. “You’re trying my patience.”
“Excellent,” I said as I tossed my hair. “But you know I’m not allowed to give out my real name.”
He took a deep breath. “Let’s start over.”
“Great, I’m going to go back out onto the floor and—”
“Eden,” he warned.
“Excuse me, but you’re acting very possessive of me right now. You don’t have that right. I don’t even know your name.”
“Hadrian Rhys.”
My mouth flickered in amusement. “You’re named after a Roman emperor?”
“Aye.”
“Your mother certainly had a high opinion of you.”
His gaze went glacial.
I was at a loss for what to do, what to say. The man in front of me—Hadrian Rhys—was still a stranger, despite the fact that I’d met him a few days earlier by sheer coincidence, and despite the fact that it had been one of the most sexually charged encounters of my life—and he hadn’t even touched me.
